To Hold You, To Protect You
by erbby17
Summary: All he wanted to do was protect Arthur with all he could, but that Frenchman made it all too difficult. Mainly USxUK with some FrUK, for extra drama.
1. PROLOGUE

_A/N: Yes. I'm obsessed with Hetalia. To elaborate, I'm obsessed with **ENGLAND**, since he's the cutest lil' tsundere to ever cross my fandom-path. Anyway, this isn't really my first attempt at Hetalia fanfiction (I'm still working on that one, lol), but this is my first time POSTING Hetalia fanfiction. So, YAY!_

_Disclaimer: I own NOTHING, not the series, not the characters, not even the damn COUNTRIES (but that'd be pretty cool...). Human names are used throughout, but country names are used as well (just not in this chapter). There will be more to follow so if you enjoy this chapter, STAY TUNED! :D_

_~*~*~*~_

**PROLOGUE**

The warm morning sunlight crept into the room, painting the floor with hues of golden yellows. It covered the entire room in just a span of minutes, catching the attention of those two fair-haired lovers in bed. Arthur snuggled closer to Alfred's side, trying to block the sun's rays from further disturbing him.

"Hmm, blasted sun," he mumbled against his partner's rib, the soft puffs of his breath tickling Alfred awake.

The other man yawned and stretched out his arms, bringing them down and around the small frame of the grumpy Englishman. "Oh, I like the sun, Arthur," he said, a sleepy tone lingering in his voice.

Blushing softly, Arthur glanced up, noticing that Alfred's face remained as it did in sleep mode. "It's not waking you up?"

Alfred giggled and perked open a glistening blue eye. "Nope, but _you_ are," he smirked, pulling in his lover closer.

Arthur whined, burying his face against Alfred's side. His actions were met with a hearty laugh from the self-proclaimed-hero, but he didn't bother to glance up at that laughing face; Arthur knew it all too well. He had seen so much of it perched over him the previous night, the memories of their foreplay stinging his cheeks with heat.

The Englishman sighed, opting to cuddle in closer with Alfred, resting his head atop that strong chest that slowly rose and fell with each of the American's breaths. "You're so warm," he whispered softly, shutting his eyes from the blinding sun.

Petting his partner's hair softly, Alfred nodded, lying back for the sun to further heat up his tired body. "So are you."

There was little left to say after that moment as the two decided to spend their morning in bed, latched tightly to one another. So many obstacles had been in their way for years, but they managed to leap over those hurdles in just one night; maybe more. The long journey flashed through their waking minds, as fights and conversations best left behind crept back into their skulls…

_~*~*~*~_

**_...to be continued._**

**_~erbby_**


	2. CHAPTER ONE

_A/N: Wow. Thanks to everyone one who read the prologue, and all those watches/alerts already! :D Here is the 'first chapter', staring a very Young Alfred. He's very cute..._

_Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING! Not Hetalia, not the chararcters, not the countries...PLEASE ENJOY & STAY TUNED!!!_

~*~*~*~

**CHAPTER 1**

"Let's read _this_ one, Arthur," the young boy cried, holding the leather-bound book in his small hands.

England smiled, pulling the book from the child's hands. "No, no, Alfred, this is big person book. You'll have to wait a few years before you can read something like this," he laughed, placing the book back in its wedge on the shelf.

Young America sighed, disappointed with the response. "But I wanna read it."

His hand frozen over the book's spine, Arthur sighed, pulling it back from the shelf and walking over to the sofa. "Alright, alright, if you're going to give me that face, we might as well give it a try."

Alfred giggled excitedly and ran over to the sofa, hopping on the vacant spot beside his father figure. How he loved reading with Arthur, and not for the stories; he liked sitting beside the Englishman, hearing his accent pronounce words all funny, and the feeling of his hand resting on the child's shoulder. He loved England and cherished every moment spent with him.

Clearing his throat, Arthur turned to the first page and opened his mouth to speak, until a loud knock on the door interrupted the serene atmosphere. "Blast it, who could that be?" He groaned, placing the book down and walking towards the front door. "I'll be right back, Alfred, just sit right there," he called back, his hand reaching for the door knob.

Alfred hopped off the sofa and peered down the hall, spotting England's not-so-welcome guest in the foyer: France.

"Bonjour!" The man's thick accent boomed down the hall. America's heart jumped and he proceeded to run back to his seat on the sofa as France greeted his disgruntled host. Waltzing down the hall, France kept an angered England wrapped tightly in his arm. Glancing over, he spotted young America, waiting on the sofa with the leather-bound book in his grip, trying to hide his recent 'adventure'. France smirked and released the fuming England from his hold. "Why, if it isn't the little Alfred," he said leisurely, grabbing the boy's hand to plant a gentle kiss upon his knuckles.

Alfred took in a deep breath, reminding himself of his manners. He was still young and held much promise as a nation; so many countries had their eyes on him, especially France, and such matters of control resulted in messy fights and quarrels. But England managed to win him over, a thought that put a smile on America's face. He bowed his head courteously to England's new guest, jerking his hand from the playboy's grip. "Good afternoon, France," Alfred said, masking his tone of displeasure.

England cleared his throat and stepped towards Alfred, pushing France aside. "Alfred, would you mind taking that book upstairs to the study? Francis and I have…important matters to discuss," he said, his cheeks oddly flushed when his sentence was matched with a chortle from France.

America found the situation awkward – England's apparent embarrassment and France's amused disposition – but he abided to England's wishes and hopped off the sofa with a smile. "Okay," he said, scurrying up the stairs and clutching the book to his chest.

Smirking devilishly, Alfred stopped half way up, trying to listen in on the conversation below.

"_Important matters_? Oh, Arthur, I never knew I meant so much to you," he heard France say dimly.

"Quiet, you frog, I can't stand listening to your ridiculous voice," the soft yet peeved voice of England said, making Alfred laugh to himself. "I can't even believe I still do this with you."

There was a pause before France spoke once more. "_Mon ami_, why so heartless? To think that such pleasures leave you so…"

And then the door slammed. Hoping to hear more, America sighed and made his way up to the study. "Better get up to the study," he chanted, running down the carpeted hall towards his destination.

Well past a half hour passed and the book sat beside America, untouched since his journey upstairs. He sighed, counting the minutes, the seconds, until England came to retrieve him from the study. "What could they be talking about," he pondered, gawking around the room for some sort of answer. His mind filling with random thoughts and ideas left him unaware of his surroundings and his heart skipped a beat when England entered the room, short of breath. "Ah, Alfred," he said, clutching his chest and heaving breaths between his words. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Francis just left."

America smiled and ran over to England, his arms wide for a hug, only to stop when he gave the man a glance over. A peculiar thing, England's appearance: his cheeks were red and glistened with a damp luster, possibly from sweat or tears; his hair was tousled and messed about, and Alfred was sure that Arthur was wearing a tie before France came to visit. "Must've been a good talk," Alfred said, hugging Arthur's leg.

England stood there, awkwardly gaping at America before kneeling down, placing his hands on Alfred's shoulders and staring him in the eyes, a tired yet serious look on his face. "Alfred, I hope you don't mind, but you'll be eating supper alone tonight."

The young boy stood there, stunned at the sudden change of plans. "Eating alone? But…"

"I'm sorry, Alfred, I'm just incredibly tired right now, I need to rest," Arthur said, interrupting the boy in mid-sentence. "Please forgive me. I'll have the cooks prepare a large breakfast for us tomorrow before sending you off."

Alfred sighed, avoiding England's drooping eyes. "It's alright," he said, barely audible, and walked out of the study and down the stairs. This was a very odd turn of events. America could hardly understand England's thinking, let alone the man's sudden disheveled appearance.

"Alfred!"

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and glanced behind, noticing the look of hurt in his father figure's face. Alfred smiled and held his chin high, proving that nothing could dampen his spirit. "I'm fine, Arthur. You just gotta promise that you'll be awake to read me to sleep tonight."

An awkward chuckle swimming past his lips, England smiled and nodded his head, making his way down the hall towards his bed chamber. "Of course, of course," he said, and waved Alfred off before disappearing into his room.

America's smile grew brighter and he skipped off towards the dining room for his solitary dinner. Even better than his visits to England's place was being able to fall asleep to the man's voice. Such a charming tone left Alfred with sweet dreams and large smile. But unfortunately, Arthur did not wake up until the next morning, an act that stung at the young nation's heart.

~*~*~*~

_Aw...**to be continued...**_

**_~erbby_**


	3. CHAPTER TWO

_A/N: Here's chapter two! The plot is slowly getting there, but you might have to wait until the next chapter to get the whole gist of it. Also, the next chapter might not be up until mid to late of next week. Sorry, but school comes first...unfortunately. DX_

_I OWN NOTHING! Not the series, the characters, or the counrties represented. Please enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it. :D_

_~*~*~*~_

**CHAPTER TWO**

Alfred laughed joyously, the edge of his pinky barely touching the thickness of Arthur's brow. "Ha ha! Almost, old man," he cried victoriously, spinning around in a festive dance.

England's face couldn't have been redder, a mixture of embarrassment and agitation coating his cheeks. "This is so stupid. Height means nothing, Alfred, so stop being so damn proud about it!"

America's mood could not be controlled; he glared over at England, a healthy dose of excitement in his eyes. "This is more than just height, Arthur," he said, smirking. "This is a sign that I _will_ be a hero, and that day's not far off!"

Sighing, the elder of the two sat down at his chair, the previous red hint his cheeks had now fading. "You _are_ growing up," Arthur whispered sadly.

Alfred could feel the aura in the room turn dim, so he opted to end the conversation and sat across from his host, resting his arms on the table. "That's right. And I can't even _dream_ of growing up without some more lessons in British etiquette," he said, fighting a scowl with a wide smile. Though he despised those absurd lessons Arthur constantly drilled in his head, Alfred would do anything to put a smile on that man's face.

Arthur stood from his seat to saunter over to the bookshelf, exuding much pride in his step. "I'm glad I was the one to raise you, Alfred," he said, returning to the table with a thick textbook in his hands, "otherwise, there would be no hope for your survival in the real world."

Laughing quite loudly, Alfred tried to prevent that infamous lip twitch, a usual symptom of his displeasure from looking at that book. "Oh Arthur," he drawled, trying to prepare his mind for monotonous exercises on proper table manners.

England opened the book, searching for his daily lesson. "Now, let's see," he said, flipping effortlessly through hundreds of yellow-stained pages.

"Master Kirkland, sir."

Both blondes perked their heads up at the maid's soft voice, her appearance in the room just as docile. "Rebecca. What is it?"

The young woman took in a deep breath, glancing back towards the hall. She seemed to hesitate in reporting her business, which was a shame, for when she tried to open her mouth, a third blonde joined in on the etiquette lesson.

"_C'est moi!_"

Arthur groaned, slamming the book close. "Francis! No, no! Not today, get out!"

The Frenchman did not listen and simply twirled about the room until his elbows were perched upon the table, his chin resting on his interlocked fingers. "What is this," he said, observing the book's cover before Arthur splayed his hands all over it, growling under his breath.

"Have you gone deaf, you imbecile?! I'm in the middle of giving Alfred a lesson! Get out of my house!!!"

Unlike the man who raised him, Alfred was quite amused by distractions and sat back in his seat, giggling at the turn of events.

France craned his neck to give America a warm welcome smile. "You don't actually enjoy reading such dull garbage, do you," he asked under his breath, only to have his question answered with more laughter.

Francis and Arthur were always like this, bickering and poking fun and all sorts of other nonsense. It was a world Alfred truly enjoyed. "No, not really," he said, smiling widely.

"Alfred!"

Giggling, the romantic in the room linked his arm with the hot head, dancing merrily towards the door. "Don't listen to him, young man, he's just in one of his moods! But I shall tame him for you! _Au revoir_," he sang, with the Englishman in his arms protesting incoherently.

"J-just…stay in here and work on some exercises, Alfred," Arthur cried out before the parlor doors slammed shut.

The young blonde laughed and nodded, pulling the large book towards him and flipping to some random page. "Will do, Arthur, will do."

He sighed, listening intently to the storming footsteps upstairs and the many profane insults shouted by England. The sound of another door slamming beaconed silence, and America began to study.

…which didn't last long. "Ugh, this is so boring!" He dropped his forehead against the book, continuously banging out his frustration. "Why does he keep up with this torture?! I don't care where the salad fork goes. I don't even _like_ salad," he complained, pushing the book far from his end of the table.

Groaning, Alfred looked up at the wall-wide bookshelf at the other side of the parlor. Arthur had such a large collection of literature, most of them odd spell books that Alfred was forbidden to read. The young man smirked and stood up, leisurely making his way across the room. "He's not here. He won't know what I'm reading…"

He giggled maliciously as his long fingers brushed over the tattered spines of books, studying the velour textures and dark colors of the texts. One spine read _How to Produce a Hex_ and Alfred eagerly pulled it from its home, maddeningly flipping through pages. Most of the book was written in some odd type face Alfred didn't care to figure out, only focusing on reading what he could understand. "Oh Arthur, and you think _I'm_ juvenile," he chuckled softly, reading the instructions on "giving your enemies the nose of a hog".

After a few lines and sentences, he had his fill, and placed the book back in its place. This was just as boring as reading the etiquette book. Alfred wanted Arthur, not his enormous display of ridiculous literature, even if there were awesome stories of knights and heroes. Regardless, they weren't fun to read without the other man, and time only crept by slower as America waited for England and France to finish their…

Just what _were_ they doing?

A loud, pained moan and a sudden crash of glass caught Alfred's attention, his head swerving reflexively towards the parlor doors. Muffled yells and loud bangs from the second floor came from an all-too familiar voice. "Arthur?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you sick bastard?!"

"_Mon Angleterre_, listen, I was just…"

"Get out of my sight! Get out!!!"

Concerned, Alfred ran out into the hall and glanced upstairs, spotting a nude France on the hallway landing, outside of England's room. He gasped, his cheeks blushing red and his mind growing foggy. He knew the man was quite comfortable with in nothing but his bare flesh, but why here?

Slowly, Alfred started up the stairs, meeting France's eyes once half way up. The color in the Frenchman's face completely drained. "A-Alfred," he croaked, a ball of wrinkled clothing flying toward the older man's face.

"Don't ever think you can go that far again, you…" Arthur started yelling, before freezing at the sight of Alfred.

America's eyes darted back and forth between two confusing images; France stood awkwardly in the hallway, clutching the ball of wrinkled clothing against his crotch; England was in his bedroom doorway, wearing nothing but a bed sheet, draped lightly around his hips.

Nothing made sense. Alfred knew Arthur's distaste for Francis; all he ever did was complain about that aloof buffoon, who ran purely on wine and sex. But to see Arthur in such a state…

Young America gasped, still trying to soak in everything, when the sight of Arthur's shaking formed revealed much more than his bare body clothed with just a bed sheet. Light lines of crimson scratches, little rash-like spots of pink and red, and what seemed to be teeth marks decorated the man's pale flesh.

"Al…Alfred, I," England sputtered out, his green eyes swelling with tears.

It was all too much. Before Arthur could speak another word, Alfred bolted down the stairs, trying to keep his breath steady. Running out the door, there was only so much the young blonde could comprehend, but he knew one thing: he had to get out.

~*~*~*~

**_...to be continued._**

_I know, I'm such a bastard, giving you guys a cliffhanger like that. XD_

**_~erbby_**


	4. CHAPTER THREE

_A/N: I. Am. SOOOOO sorry that this wasn't posted earlier, but I've been so busy lately. DX I'll try my damn hardest to get the next chapter out within a week. ANYWAY! Here's the continuation of chapter two and for anyone who's been looking for the USxUK amid the FrUK, this chapter might please you! But...only so little. XD_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own HETALIA, or the characters represented in this fic. They belong to the WONDERFUL Himaruya Hidekaz. :3 ENJOY!!!_

_~*~*~*~_

**CHAPTER THREE**

Arthur watched in honor as the young man fled from his home. A soft whine escaping his lips, he went with his first impulse; to scour his room for whatever piece of clothing he could find and explain himself to Alfred before it was too late.

"Why am I such a bloody idiot?!" Trying to find clothes to throw on was not an easy task with his eyes so full of tears. He pulled on the first pair of pants he could find and grabbed a blouse from the bed, slipping it over his arms as he ran down the stairs. "You better be gone when I get back, Francis," he yelled, nearing the door.

"Wait, Arthur, that's my shirt…"

Francis would've been better off speaking in his native tongue, because his words never reached England.

Out of the house, England looked around the surrounding area frantically, noticing, to his dismay, the large patch of woods in his home was located.

"Shit," he cried softly, not sure where to start looking. Winter had just ended, so it was easy to look around the still barren trees, but his issue was the direction. "Alfred!" His cry was desperate and echoed out among the wooded terrain. He swallowed thickly, setting off to his right and hoping to God his young guest ran this way.

The thoughts running through England's mind left him distracted in his search for America: how could he let such a stupid thing like this happen? True, this had been something he and Francis did for years, but to go along with it when Alfred was in the house? What a fool. "Alfred!!!"

By the time the sun began to set, there was still no sign of Alfred. Leaning against a tree to catch his breath, Arthur spotted a familiar blue glow, highlighted with miniature stars of twinkling glitter. "Titania!"

The small fairy flicked back her long raven hair, glaring at her long time friend. "I'm ashamed of you, Arthur," she scolded, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You've…seen Alfred, I take it," he said softly, embarrassed.

The fairy nodded and pointed towards a tree, just meters from the two. "He's been there for hours."

Following her finger, Arthur slowly made his way towards the tree, listening intently to the silence of the forest. Rounding the tree, he spotted the young blonde, resting his back against the bark. The Englishman was surprised to see such a look on his face, furrowed brow and a prominent lip pout, but soon realized that it was appropriate. "Hey, Al…"

"How long," he interrupted, his voice filled with a biting tone, "have the two of you been having those…_meetings_?"

England's cheeks flushed red; he always complained about France, but usually from his experiences with him. It hurt, how he hid something like that from America, but not half as much as it hurt the younger man. He tried to speak, tried his damn hardest to explain the reasons for his shameful act, but he couldn't. "I'm…so sorry, Alfred," he said, choking back those desperate sobs.

Alfred looked so disappointed, his eyes a scolding blue. They pierced through Arthur's quivering frame, and the Englishman could feel them reading and analyzing every filthy secret he kept from young teen. Although he made sure to clothe himself before running out to chase America, England felt incredibly naked, France's love bites visible even in the glimmering sunset. "It's…n-not something I'm proud of, Alfred," he said softly, keeping his head low, finally noticing Francis' blouse draped over his shoulders. Tears started to slowly tread down his cheek, his fingernails piercing skin in his tightly clenched palms. "A-and it's not like…I ever _wanted_ to do it, either."

His voice trailed off as he swallowed thickly. No, he never wanted to sleep with that perpetually intoxicated man whore, but France had such a way in bed and it always felt so good. England whined loudly, more tears streaming down, the realization of how he truly felt bruising his mind; he failed America as an older brother.

"Arthur?"

The sound of his name stung at the blonde's heart, but Alfred's voice sounded lighter than earlier. A light tug at his shirtsleeve forced England to look up into those big blue eyes.

"He's not forcing you to do this, is he?"

His green-eyes grew wide and Arthur seemed to notice how tall Alfred was; in just a few months, maybe a year, the young blonde would tower over him. The boyish features that once lingered on his face seemed to fade and shape into the more masculine lines along his cheeks and jaw.

A hint of pink rose to Arthur's cheeks, the tears drying against the blush. He wanted to speak, to answer, but Alfred had grown too handsome for him to think straight. How come he never noticed this before?

America gave a concerned pout and wrapped his arms around England to bring him close, resting his chin in the crook at the bottom of the older man's neck. "He's hurting you," he whispered softly, his gentle voice layered with a tinge of pain. "I can't let him hurt you, Arthur, I won't."

Hurt? The word sounded so strange, but England failed to retort, much too comfortable in the arms of the growing teen. "Alfred, please," he began to say meekly.

Alfred shook his head, tightening his hold. "No, he is, Arthur, I can see it in your face. But I won't let him, I promise," he voice grew stronger at a steady pace, a sense of conviction making each word louder than the previous one. "I'll grow up and be more than a perfect gentleman, I'll grow up to be a hero, to be _your_ hero. I have to protect you, Arthur. I have to grow bigger to keep you safe, to protect you from harm."

England froze, those words nipping at his tender flesh. It felt wrong to accept this gesture of protection when he didn't need it. France wasn't hurting him, not in the slightest! It was England hurting America, for allowing this absurd notion of security. But Arthur choked back any words of oppression, failing to speak the truth and instead to indulge in what felt good, the very feeling that got him in this mess.

He nodded and forced a smile to his lips, weakly bringing his arms around the other blonde. "Thank you, Alfred," he said, barely audible.

A light squeeze assured Arthur that he was heard. He sighed, and looked up at the now navy-blue sky above the trees, his mind a hazy blur of the day's events. How he wished he never left the parlor with Francis, regretting ever walking up to his room and stripping off his clothes in the lustful way he did. His eyes managed to produce another small tear, which dropped carelessly onto Alfred's golden crown.

It felt too good to be in Alfred's arms.

~*~*~*~

**_...to be continued._**

_Sorry if anyone didn't like the fairy bit. I was just...SO tempted to make a Shakespeare reference. XD THANKS FOR READING!!!_

**_~erbby_**


	5. CHAPTER FOUR

_A/N: YAY!!! NEW CHAPTER!!! And on my birthday, too! 8D Ha ha, well, I figured you guys deserved it after the delay from last time. Although, this is the key ANGSTY chapter in the story, so I'm sorry for that. XD But I had a lot of fun coming up with this chapter, or at least the extra things I managed to put in. So, please enjoy regardless. :D_

_DISCLAIMER: Hetalia and the characters represented belong to HIMARUYA. Like I stated, this chapter is angsty and there's still that bit of FrUK in here but it IS A USxUK story, so don't give up on me yet. Thank you!!! Please enjoy!!!_

_~*~*~*~_

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"I thought I told you to stop coming by." Arthur's voice was low but stern, his face dimly lit by the candle on his desk. Sheets and sheets of papers littered his desk and the floor of the study and his body sat lethargic in the chair: an ink drenched quill in one hand, a glass of gin the other.

Francis merely lingered in the doorway, a somber expression on his face that matched the darkened ambiance of the room. "I only came by to check up on you," he said softly, gesturing his head towards the hallway. "You may escort me out if you wish."

His words bit at Arthur as a rage filled the Englishman. Paperwork flew in the air, the quill was tossed across the floor, and Arthur leaned over his desk, nearly barking at his much unwanted guest. "_If I wish_? I said I don't want you coming over anymore, now get out of my house before I toss you out the window!" His shaking hand clenched the glass of liquor, its contents close to spilling out.

The outbursts were becoming more common, ever since Alfred started his rebellion. Arthur lost most of his sensibility; the young colony was growing up so quickly anymore, and England couldn't stand to lose his little bit of innocence. It was indeed a dark time for him.

Glancing down at the gin in hand, he gulped it down in one go before falling helplessly to the chair to pour himself another glass, reaching for the half empty bottle. "I don't know what to do anymore," he whined, drops of tears splashing into the glass.

Francis took a deep breath before walking further into the room with a hesitant step. "_Mon Angleterre_," he said in a gentle, lilting tone, resting his hands on England's shoulders to give them a gentle massage.

Arthur's eyes were fixed on the glass; it had been his forth one in the past hour. He groaned, shrugging the other nation off his back and taking a swig of the gin. "Rebecca shall get a dock in her pay for letting the likes of you in here," he mumbled, standing up to gather the scattered papers before heading downstairs.

"It's that attitude that had Alfred rebel in the first place," the Frenchman joked lightly as he followed his grumpy companion to the main level. The mood not right for such comedy, Francis received a chilling glare from the shorter blond nation.

The stiff silence that followed lead Francis to the door, his hand reaching for the knob. "_Desolé_, I'll be going."

"Why me?"

Francis froze, unable to extend his hand to clutch the knob. "Come again?"

Standing in the hall, Arthur's cheeks flushed lightly, his moistening eyes locked on the floor's wooden finish. "You hate me, so why do you keep coming back for more? To torture me?" His voice wavered, that weak pout regulating the tone of each word

The taller nation turned to face Arthur, a soft smile gracefully painted on his lips. "_Tu es fol_," he chortled under his breath, walking over to catch Arthur's chin upon his finger. "I do not hate you. When did such a ridiculous notion ever slip inside your mind? _Non_, Arthur, I adore you."

His voice lilted like the breeze into England's ear as a devilish kiss made its way from his lobe down his jaw and up to his lips, where France lingered. Blue eyes sparkled before Arthur's, making the red on his cheeks just one shade darker. That damn romantic…

"I cannot help but want to tease you, that is all. Your face, your body, all of you; you're too cute."

Arthur broke eye contact with the infamous lover, a soft grunt ushering the Frenchman away. "How does all that garbage make it out of your mouth, Francis," he said, trying to wiggle free from the finger under his chin.

With a smirk, Francis leaned in. "I can show you, if you want."

"Oh, you've shown me plenty of times!" With the mood broken, the grump pushed the perverted nation away, although he couldn't help but believe his earlier words. Francis may have a dirty old man, but Arthur would never call him a liar. But to have those words hang on him was painful enough during this time in England's life, and he gestured towards the door. "Please, just go," he whispered.

In a frantic mess, Rebecca burst through the front door, clutching her chest to catch the slightest bit of breath. "Sir! Master Jones has arrived."

Both blonde nations raised their eyebrows, equally surprised with the news, until it hit Arthur with a heavy feeling in his stomach. His eyes shot up the stairway, lingering on the study door; the paperwork he was working on, the deal he was going to make with America! "Shit," he cried, his eyes darting around the room with a hint of madness. "I completely forgot! Francis, get out. Get out now!"

Flustered, the long haired nation hesitated towards the door, a look similar to confusion on his face. "Wait, Arthur, I do not," he began to say, reaching out and grabbing Arthur's arm the second Alfred walked through the door.

"Let's get started on this deal of yours, old man," the young man said joyfully before his eyes met with France and glided down his arm to that hand clutching England rather tightly.

The concern that welled up in Arthur disappeared once he glanced over the Alfred in the door. His tall, slender frame draped lightly in formal garb; his blue eyes wide, glistening with confusion and alarm; that amber colored hair, dancing softly with the wind from outside. Arthur's eyes fixedly observed every bit of the grown boy, now close to being more of a man than a child. "Alfred," his voice barely croaked out, also lost in the good looks of the rebellious colony.

But his blue eyes quickly glared between both men in the room, and Alfred bolted towards Francis, grabbing him by the collar and pinning him against the wall. "Bastard, you just couldn't get your damn hands off him, could you," he growled, papers drifting from his hands down to the floor.

In a panicked state, Francis squirmed against the wall, trying to defend himself, but to no avail. Alfred's yells escalated and echoed venomously throughout the main hall, down corridors and into rooms, winding up stair cases and booming out from windows. Arthur watched the maddened rage in horror. Everything, it was all his fault: for giving Alfred the loving care of a father or a brother, for tending to his dirtied knees and bloody scrapes, for not admitting the horrid truth that Francis was never hurting him. Tears welled in those green irises and were fixed on a strong fist aiming towards a face of golden stubble.

"Alfred, no!"

It went by too quickly. Arthur stopped Alfred from further committing any violence by grabbing his wrist, pushing back his body, and slapping his face, a stinging that hurt more than the older nation's hand. "How dare you come into my home and cause this sort of hostility," he spat, avoiding eye contact with the younger man. "Know your place!"

Time stopped as Arthur lifted his face to see his hand imprinted in bright red on Alfred's left cheek. What had he just done? What had he just said?

In a quicker pace than earlier, the blonde rebel returned Arthur's action, sending a smack to his former master harsher than the one he received. "'Know my place' you say? Oh, I know it, _England_, and it sure as hell isn't here," he said in a bitter tongue, turning his heel to leave the estate.

The harsh reality invaded every pore of Arthur's being, his body frozen in a stance of shock. He could barely hear France's apologies. He didn't even notice the man offering an embrace of farewell, or register the fact he left. He merely stared at the front door, replaying the moment in his head, repeating his cold words and the much deserved retort.

Oddly enough, Arthur couldn't remember returning to the study. He stood in the room, glancing around frantically to understand his surroundings, when he noticed the gin and the paperwork on the desk. He scowled and ran over, tearing up the piles of papers to shreds, screaming lists of profanities and crying rivers of tears as paper snowfall fell upon the study floor.

Worn and beaten, he reached for the bottle of gin, only so much left in it, and guzzled down the remaining contents, most of which spilled onto his chest. His hand shook around the bottle's neck and he tossed it across the room with a scream, and watched tiredly as the glass crashed against the bookshelf and fall to the ground. Pieces of broken glass mirrored his own experiences with America; he never dreamt their relationship would be so fragile that it could fall apart so easily.

It would be years before he got a good night's sleep.

~*~*~*~

**_...to be continued._**

_Although I think we all know what happens next. XD NOT TO FEAR. The next chapter will be showcasing more USxUK...and I'm not sure yet, but either the next one or the one after will see the rating changed from T to M. So put on your happy-caps, yaoi fans. XD_

_Thanks for reading._

**_~erbby_**


	6. CHAPTER FIVE

_A/N: I. Hate. Computers. Right now, I'm in my school's library submitting this chapter and...well, it's kinda of awkward. LOL, anyway, I'm computer-less until further notice, so I have no idea when the next chapter will come out (I wasn't even sure when THIS one would come out, but I found a way). So, I apologize for making you wait (this chapter would've come out today, regardless of my computer issues)._

_DISCLAIMER: Himaruya owns these characters, not me. I don't even own this computer. XD I'm just a desperate fangirl who wanted to please her readers. This chapter is quite fluffy and adorable, and the only warning is topless!America. OH MY! Please enjoy._

~*~*~*~

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Arthur found it hard to recover from his near century long dive into alcoholism; true, he had always been one to enjoy a night at the bars and get lost in drunken fantasies, but Alfred's Revolution firmly glued a liquor glass to Arthur's hand. Even in the years that followed, only tension sparked between the two former "brothers", which took almost 100 years to die down.

It was but a decade from the twentieth century when England received that invitation, the star spangled seal on the envelope nearly screaming the sender's name. For days, Arthur replayed the script-faced words in his head, repeating the invite's contents until someone could shake him from his maddened stupor.

"Sir! Master Kirkland, we've arrived at the harbor," his attendant said.

All bleary eyed and tired, Arthur rose from his seat, shaking awake from his memory filled dream. Suppose it was the week long journey at sea that made him nauseas, but Arthur could still feel the slow climb of ill-matter slip up this esophagus.

He thanked the young man with a low grumble, making his way to the deck to take his first gander at the American land in nearly a century. New York City had gained some renown over the years, but Arthur could hardly understand how it even stood a chance against his beloved London, especially with that ghastly copper woman, perched in the harbor to welcome more than just ships.

"Ugh, Francis, you really do have awful taste," he said scowling, remembering the one responsible for such a monument.

Arthur walked out onto the docks, taking in that last breath of sea air before hopping into the luggage-filled carriage and heading towards Alfred's house. His body quivered nervously, unsure of what to make of his first peaceful visit since America's younger years. He was still wary of the invitation; relations between the two countries had smoothened out, but only between the men running them. The nations _themselves_ were a different story.

The carriage stopped in front of the city residence, the largest one on the block. Arthur stepped out carefully, minding his step on the stone street below. Glancing up, he took in the atmosphere of Alfred's house, and the red, white, and blue flag billowing in the soft, evening wind. "You can do this, Arthur, just a few more steps," he convinced himself, slowly making it up the stoop stairs, his feet heavy like bricks.

In the span of what seemed like an eternity, the Englishman raised his fist to the door, tapping lightly against the oak finish. It opened at almost the same time his knuckles parted from the wood, a young girl in a black and white dress waiting at the entrance. "Oh! Master Kirkland?"

Nodding slowly, Arthur's mouth spat up little more than coherent babbles; of course Alfred would have maids, but he had a small hope of his former colony greeting him at the door instead of…

"Tabitha, is that Arthur?"

Both heads at the door turned to the stairway inside, a half dressed Alfred smothering a towel through his blonde hair.

"Yes, I believe so, Master Jones," the young maid answered cheerfully, quickly giving the guest one more look over to determine his existence.

Alfred leaned on the railing, flicking the towel over his shoulder. "Please, Tabby, stop with the formalities! I told you, Alfred's fine," he said, his warming laughter hitting Arthur like a gust of wind.

Of course, the entire moment left the man quite speechless; to see Alfred looking so attractive blew him away. Sure, his appearance was far from proper, but not from appealing, with his stunning abs glossed with post-shower dew and his wet hair sticking to the sides of his bright and smiling face. Arthur couldn't stop himself from staring, his cheeks growing hot with more than just embarrassment.

"Arthur! You came early," Alfred cheered, breaking the Englishman's plight of school girl ogling.

Keeping his eyes down, Arthur cleared his throat, answering his host quite inaudibly. "Hm, yes. Sorry…"

Another soft laugh filled the foyer before Alfred returned upstairs. "Tabitha, could you show Arthur to his room, please?"

The young girl nodded, leading her guest inside and grabbing his bags. "Please follow me upstairs, Master Kirkland," she said, walking gingerly up the stairs, step by step. "Master Jones has been quite excited for your visit. He's been talking about it all week!"

Arthur still felt awkward in his surroundings, the surreal experience of visiting America continuously paining his stomach; Tabitha did little to help the indigestion. "Really," he said softly, following the maid into the guest room.

A coy sort of giggle answered, Tabitha's small frame waiting in the doorway. "Dinner should be ready soon. In the mean time, make yourself comfortable."

Tabitha shut the door softly, leaving Arthur in the thick air. His trembling sigh led him to the bed, where he began to unpack the clothing set for the week: a whole week of this. He groaned painfully, clutching to his rumbling in his stomach.

Glancing around the room, he spotted a bureau against the wall and brought his neatly folded clothes over to set them inside. Atop the bureau sat two photographs of the past decades: Francis and Alfred stood beside one another in front of that tacky statue from the harbor, and a solemn photo of Alfred on the battlefield during his own Civil War. A quill pen sat between two photos and Arthur's fingers shook as they inched closer to the while bristles.

"Hancock gave that to me after the signing," a familiar voice said from the doorway, causing the curious guest to gasp and back up in shock.

"Al-alfred!"

The taller blonde leaned against the door frame and smiled, walking over to grab the quill to twirl it between his fingers. "Such a small memento, but it means so…"

He stopped, his blue eyes staring right through Arthur, the smaller man shaking and scowling like a stubborn pup.

"I'm glad your décor means so _much_ to you," he mumbled, keeping his eyes to the floor. The mood only grew more uncomfortable, Arthur's incessant twitching reminding him that he couldn't possibly survive a week in this man's house, especially with the possibility of him strolling around topless with the godly form out in the open. The memory of his arrival at the house painted his cheeks pink and was met with a gentle laugh from the other party.

Arthur looked up, only to meet with Alfred's hand splayed out, as if to beg for money.

"May I escort you to dinner, Mr. Kirkland?" So maybe he had the wrong description for the gesture.

Swallowing thickly, the Englishman took his host's hand, but kept his eyes far from contact. "Please, Alfred, you think that's _being a gentleman_?"

Alfred squeezed his guest's hand tight, leading him out to the hall with a coy smirk on his mouth. "I only learned from the best," he answered with a wink.

The wink assured Arthur once again: it was going to be a _long_ week.

~*~*~*~

_**...to be continued**_

_Ho ho ho, Arthur, I love you in "school-girl" mode. XD_

_**~erbby**_


	7. CHAPTER SIX

_A/N: As you can see, not having access to my own computer will not stop be from writing fanfiction. XD __This is techinically the last chapter, but there will be a Epilogue. For sure. And extra chapters. Maybe. I hope this you all enjoy this chapter! And thanks for reading. Your support and reviews mean so much. Heee~. 3_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or these characters. They belong to the ever-so-fantastic Himaruya. This chapter has some adult content, but it's not that hard core so a T rating should suffice unless yells at me. ENJOY! :D_

_~*~*~*~_

**CHAPTER SIX**

Dinner proved to be sufficiently awkward; Arthur could barely remember how his food tasted, let alone how it looked. Too many things harassed his mind, the resulting headache draining out Alfred's attempt at idle chatter.

"But he was a great guy. Shame he got shot, but I heard the play wasn't that great anyway," the American said, his fork busy shoveling food from his plate to his mouth.

England responded with a soft grunt and a nod, tracing his plate lightly with the silverware in hand. The resulting science project of his dinner was a good distraction, keeping the Englishman's attention away from Alfred's dazzling blue eyes; a gentleman had to watch out for embarrassing moments. Of course, such courteous customs had their own disadvantages, such as forcing the conversation into the direction of a horridly awkward silence.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to play with his food. England's efforts at keeping his pride made him forget his table manners. What a foolish mistake.

Arthur sighed and placed his fork beside his dish, glancing up at those damn eyes with a sort of reluctance. "How's Francis? I know you two have become quite close," he said in a near whisper.

Letting out a soft laugh, Alfred's cheeks tinged with blush and he nodded, breaking the short eye contact he made with his guest. "He's doing well; built me that statue of Lady Liberty out in the harbor. Have you seen...?"

"Yes, I have. Ghastly design..."

America smiled and glanced out into space, a warm and content sort of feeling lingering over his face. "He's a good friend; has been since the Revolution. True, it took some time warming up to him, considering our relationship before, but we're much closer now."

Arthur kept his vision as low as his voice, the slight pause affecting the tone. "How close?"

"We bonded over you," Alfred finally said after much stinging hesitation, his volume matching Arthur's.

Their eyes met for a blank moment of uncertainty before the Briton's cheek blazed red. "Excuse me," Arthur croaked, flustered by his part in the bonding of two countries.

Alfred chuckled and placed his elbows on the table, his chin gently resting on his folded fingers; his eyes retained that dream-like gaze. "It was really fun, actually. He'd tell all these embarrassing stories about you and I'd give him a few of my own. We'd laugh, have a drink, and tell some more. It helped to pass time during those sleepless nights of the war."

Groaning, Arthur rolled his eyes. Every word out of America's mouth made his stomach tighten in rejection of the conversation. "Hn, well I'm glad embarrassing stories of me helped to pass the time, but I'd rather not listen to more, thank you very much."

The younger man laughed and reached out to grab his guest's arm, tugging it in jest. "Aw, come on! It's fun!"

"No! No, it's not," the Englishman yelled, standing up with firm determination to leave the room before it was covered in the contents of his stomach. He pulled his arm from Alfred's grip and turned to rush out of the dining room and out towards the staircase. "I don't feel very well, so I'll be turning in for the night."

"Arthur?"

He could barely stand it: his role in the bond between America and France; those blue eyes recollecting memories of better-to-be-forgotten stories; that damn dinner and its invisible taste. Why he ever accepted the invitation from America was beyond his knowledge, if he knew this sort of nonsense would occur. All he cared to focus on was a cozy bed and a good night's sleep, but his hopes for the near future were destroyed before Arthur made it to the next floor.

"Arthur, wait!"

He gasped, surprised to hear that voice so close from behind. Arthur's foot slipped on the next step, the ceiling now parallel to his shocked face. His body plummeted back, but luckily Alfred's arms could break the fall before it turned into a bloody mess.

Arthur glanced behind, his vision locked on the stern disappointment on Alfred's face.

"That wasn't very polite, Mr. Kirkland," he said, scooping up his guest and carrying him up to the second story landing.

Alfred's act was met with much kicking and screaming from the smaller party, but Arthur had no hope of escaping his former colony's firm grip.

The guest room door flung open and shut at nearly the same time before Arthur's backside hit the bed with a resonating thump. He glared up at Alfred, his thick eyebrows furrowed above his nose. "_I'm_ not being polite? Do you think this is any way to treat a…?"

Arthur froze, Alfred's body propped above him and blue eyes staring deeply into green. Again, the realization of America's growth as an independent country hit Arthur with a glance over his well-built frame. No small child should ever grow into this handsome of a man. But this one did, and the familiar heat returned to England's face.

"It's been too long, Arthur. Don't run away from me," Alfred said, nearly begging in a voice of apparent sadness. "I've had to deal with so many confusing emotions in my life, all of them regarding you, and they only cleared up thanks to Francis. If it wasn't for him…"

Arthur glanced up in the pause, admiring the look of building strength in Alfred's eyes before he opened his mouth once more.

"…I would've never realized how much I loved you."

The room froze, Arthur's body growing numb to the cue of tears welling up in his eyes. "Alfred…"

The younger man smiled, reaching his hand over to wipe away the stream of tears from Arthur's eyes. "I wouldn't be the man I am today without you, Arthur. Ever since I met you, you've been a constant thought on my mind," he spoke softly, the other fingers of his hand brushing through blonde strands of hair. "The day I saw the two of you together, I just…I had no idea how to react! I couldn't stand the sight of Francis having you in a way I couldn't. It drove me insane, Arthur, and I needed him to tell me why I…

"Oh, shut up," Arthur groaned. His hands locked behind Alfred's neck, hairs being tugged as the younger man's shocked face collided with a hungry kiss of century long desperation.

It took too long to discover the sweet taste of Alfred's tongue, but Arthur savored the moment as strong hands savored the light curves of the Englishman's frame. A soft shiver jolted up his spine as he felt fabric and fingers run down his legs, the kiss only deepening as clothing flew across the room.

Arthur's hands took the chance to pull of Alfred's shirt and once the kiss was broken, took the opportunity to sit up and push the younger man down upon the bed. His fingers traced the edges and curves of Alfred's muscles, noting the light scars covering his flesh.

"H-hey, what are you…?"

"Getting a better look," Arthur bluntly stated, straddling Alfred's hips and inspecting every detail of his torso. His fingertips lightly danced over a larger, more prominent scar just above the American's navel. A soft pout dressed the older man's lips, his eyes lingering on that scar. It seemed fairly recent, and Arthur knew it represented a difficult time in Alfred's personal history. He sighed lightly, meeting those solemn blue eyes with tear glossed green. "Alfred…"

Alfred chuckled, propping his body up against his elbows and taking Arthur's curious hand in his own. "Let's not worry about scars, Arthur," he said, placing a gentle kiss upon those inquisitive lips and wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Somewhat offended, Arthur let out a small grunt to the peck, but followed suit and delighted in the feel of such firm hands on his thighs. The sensation was something his body craved, not having been touched for so long and virgin to this particular flesh on his own. His impatience was evident in the sounds that emitted from his body, his hands clawing at Alfred's back.

Alfred's mouth quickly slipped from lips to throat, nibbling gently on Arthur's trembling skin. His hands took the duty of exploring that much desired body, fingers trailing lightly over Arthur's incredibly smooth skin, running his hands up and down twitching thighs.

An accented cry broke from Arthur's voice, his hips rolling up and against Alfred's, both bodies desperate to be quenced. "Alfred," the Briton croaked, hazy eyes watching blond hair swift and stick against his sweat dampened chest.

The blond looked up and smiled, his hands tightening their grip on Arthur's hips. "Say it again…"

Arthur shivered, glaring at Alfred with a growing impatience. "Wh-what?!"

Giggling, Alfred closed what little space lingered between their faces, nipping on Arthur's pouting lower lip. "My name," he whispered.

Arthur groaned, but found it hard to disobey, crying out Alfred's name in exuberance in time to a thrust deep into his body.

Fingernails dipped deep into the American's back. Hot breaths trailed down the Briton's neck. Wet kisses and throaty moans met with rolling hips, driving the rhythm to a speedy pace, moments flashing past and lasting like eternities.

Arthur could hardly remember a time when it felt this good to be in someone's arms, when it felt so right. He closed his eyes, reveling in the heat of Alfred's body inside him, above him, around him, with him. Tears managed to slip through only to disappear to kisses on his eyes. This was no time to cry, no matter how happy those tears may be. Arthur's eyes fluttered open, catching sight of Alfred's lips and meekly kissing them as his senses were overwhelmed, the quick rush of euphoria releasing from both of their bodies.

Tired and spent, Arthur's body flopped against the bed, his fingers lazily drifting off Alfred's shoulders. Though not as intensely as before, his eyes scanned the younger man's body, taking in every detail before the vision faded.

Alfred curled up beside Arthur, that happy smile tucked just behind his ear. "I love you, Arthur," he spoke, his voice soft and gentle and filled with genuine emotion.

Again, the familiar heat and blush returned to Arthur's cheeks, his hand gripping the one resting on his chest tightly. "I've always loved you, Alfred," he said, barely audible, but the kiss behind his earlobe proved that he was still heard. He smiled meekly and closed his eyes, the previous illness in his stomach long gone.

~*~*~*~

_**...the end.** (BUT NOT WITHOUT AN EPILOGUE, SO STAY TUNED!)_

_Thanks for reading, guys! I love you ALL!!!_

**_~erbby_**


	8. EPILOGUE

_A/N: Short, cute, and to the point. It doesn't really tie up any loose ends (or any that might have been lingering in this fic. I forget now, lol), but it serves as a heart-warming end to this fic. Please enjoy._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia, Alfred, and Arthur are not mine. The first paragraph glosses over the Prologue, and this happens right after that. POV goes to Alfred this time...his first since Chapter 2!!! :D_

_~*~*~*~_

**EPILOGUE**

After the sun's attempt at waking the pair of lovers and the hours spent lying useless in bed, Alfred decided it was time to get up and stretch out his sluggish form. Peeling himself from an unshakable set of arms, his trek across the room was met with protesting grumbles and grunts from the other body in bed.

"Where the hell are _you_ going?"

Alfred laughed, glancing back at Arthur and reaching down to grab his pants. "I'm gonna get us some breakfast," he said while the fabric slipped up and over his legs. Walking over to the bed, a warm smile met Arthur's forehead in a kiss and the American turned towards the bedroom door. "Don't miss me too much."

More unpleasant mumbles lurked in bed, but Alfred could barely hear them over the surprise from opening the door.

"M-master Jones!" The tray that was once firm in Tabitha's hands fell with a crash to the ground once colliding with Alfred's bare chest, a pink blush lingering over her cheeks.

His eyes widened at the mess on the floor and he quickly bent over to help the young woman clean up the mess. "Tabitha, I'm so sorry!"

Tabitha let out an awkward chuckle, picking up the rest of the mess and standing in the doorway, trying her best to mask her embarrassment over the event. "No, it's alright Master Jones, I was just bringing Master Kirkland his breakfast," she said, her eyes darting from both men in the room, the light blush on her cheeks darkening.

Arthur groaned, frantically covering himself with the bed sheets. "See that, Alfred? Tabitha was bring breakfast to us. No need to get up," he said, that familiar grumpy tone dancing off his words.

Alfred glared back, his lower lip stuck in a prominent pout, Tabitha's laughter echoing in the background.

"Shall I return with breakfast for two, then?"

Taking in a deep breath, Alfred turned his attention back to Tabitha, nodding with a warm smile. "That would be great. Thanks, Tabitha," he said, watching the young woman descend down the stairs before turning on his heal, shooting his guest a playful glare.

Arthur's eyes widened, showing a hint of fear. "Alfred, what are you…?"

Before the bedroom door could completely close, Alfred propelled into the air, landing on a frightened Arthur and pinning him to the bed. "Gotchya!"

The older man spluttered and struggled, trying to kick the blond off him, but the childish nature of his lover could not be repelled by physical force alone. "Alfred, get off of me!"

Alfred laughed, pressing his nose against the hot blushed one of Arthur's, leaning in to steal a late morning kiss. "But I don't want to," he said, wrapping his arms around the Briton and flopping over on the bed.

Arthur groaned as he was fumbled about in Alfred's arms, until the two of them were sitting up under the sheets, Arthur's back pressed tightly against the American's chest. The tight hold could not be broken, no matter how much Arthur struggled. He sighed, leaning back against Alfred as the other man began to nibble his ear. "One week of this," he mumbled, fighting off the chills running down his back.

Alfred giggled, nuzzling his chin in the crook of Arthur's neck, lining it with soft kisses. "Yup!"

Arthur turned his head, glaring at the overly happy man on his neck. "Keep this up and you'll be eating your breakfast off the floor."

Alfred couldn't find a response more appropriate than a laugh and a kiss to those scolding lips. A whole week with Arthur; just want he needed after a century apart from him. Though, maybe a week wasn't enough time, and with that thought, Alfred deepened his kiss with Arthur, desperate to indulge in that taste before it slipped from him once more.

~*~*~*~

**_...the end._**

_Thank you so much for reading! Stay tuned for extra chapters, which might be posted in their own seperate story on . Just keep a look out, since I'll cross-post them to LJ anyway. LOVE YOU ALL!!!_

**_~erbby_**


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